


See me fall (don't let me break)

by Lizicia



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Donald has a backstory, F/M, Friendship, Post-Cyprus Agency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizicia/pseuds/Lizicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Liz doesn't know he cares; there's been a change between them since the incident-they-shall-not-name. Now they're really partners, they can rely on each other and she doesn't feel the hostility anymore, doesn't feel like the enemy when they're in the same room together but feels accepted and welcomed and equal. It's a nice feeling, one she cherishes but that does not mean she's willing to tell him things just because he cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See me fall (don't let me break)

**Author's Note:**

> How 'bout them episodes? I was a bit surprised the writers have decided Liz and Ressler are besties now - which was a bit weird in the Alchemist - but last night's episode had a much better tone and my Muse was instantly demanding I write something. Since we now have a whole month before they're back, I acquiesced.  
> Double-posted on FF.net.

That night, as Liz Keen sits on the floor of her living room, she cries more than she's cried in years as she keeps her gaze steady on the stroller they'd bought, not letting it flit over to the screen where the sonogram is still playing on a loop.

She cries for the baby she thought she wanted to have but that thought was so long ago that she doesn't even quite remember it anymore. She doesn't remember what it was like to actually want this, to imagine a family, to know with absolute certainty that she was going to be a mother because it seems like eons have passed since that moment.

She cries for the women of the Cyprus Agency who never even knew they were having children, who were eternally asleep, new life growing inside of them, unaware of anything around them, unaware of the physical link they were creating. She imagines the devastation they will have to face now that they're awake; to be a mother but not know of it, to be detached from the concept of motherhood so much that it seems like a dream, not a reality. She has more in common with them than she probably should.

She cries because Tom left moments after she'd declared her worries, after she'd acknowledged what they both had been thinking, after she'd given him the sign to fight for it, to fight for them. He left without looking back, without another word and she knows that whatever was cracked before, is now fully broken, the chasm between them growing by the minute.

But most of all, she cries because she knows that her decision is the right one, because she remembers the Lassiters and the ache that resonated inside of her as she listened to them speak, as she realized what she had been forbidding herself from acknowledging. And she cries because it hurts, because she can't remember the last time she was this alone.

* * *

 

"Are you okay?"

Liz could feel Ressler's eyes on her even before he speaks to her, from the moment he entered their shared office and probably found that she presented a disconcerting picture.

She knows what he sees; her eyes are slightly red-rimmed even if she used her best concealer but Ressler is not an idiot and he probably knows that she has been crying, probably wonders what's happened, maybe even knows in some way.

Still, she offers him a wan smile in hope of stopping him from asking any more questions. "I'm fine."

He frowns and she can almost see his brain working, can see him try and make sense of her appearance and her words and really wishes he wouldn't say anything else.

"Are you sure?"

And she suddenly wants to get up from behind her desk, wants to open her mouth and say that she isn't okay, wants to tell him everything, wants him to hug her close and- she clamps down on that thought very quickly.

Instead, she nods her head and tries to school her features into a relaxed expression. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine, just a bit tired."

There's a moment when his eyes narrow and he almost speaks, almost asks something more and she tenses imperceptibly. Or possibly not so imperceptibly because his expression loses the intensity and while he's still not quite satisfied, he nods. "Okay then."

It's not that Liz doesn't know he cares; there's been a change between them since the incident-they-shall-not-name. Now they're really partners, they can rely on each other and she doesn't feel the hostility anymore, doesn't feel like the enemy when they're in the same room together but feels accepted and welcomed and equal. It's a nice feeling, one she cherishes but that does not mean she's willing to tell him things just because he cares.

And yes, he's been incredibly open with her, that much is true. She knows about Audrey, remembers that mission in Hungary when he couldn't seem to stop talking about her and Tassles – the name still makes her chuckle – but she mostly blames the alcohol for that. For reasons she won't admit to herself, she doesn't really want to know more about Audrey and whether they're back together or not.

They spend the rest of the day going over paperwork, filling out forms and incident reports, just quietly working, not speaking all that much and she's grateful for the chance to distract her mind with technical work. There's not much room left to think about everything waiting – or possibly not waiting – for her at home and she likes it that way. She's never been more grateful for paperwork.

But then she remembers and snaps at Aram for not giving her his full account of the paper trail left by the Cyprus Agency, and finds herself increasingly irritated by an analyst's – whose name she just  _cannot_ remember – inability to present files in order, and knows with frustrating clarity that Ressler sees both incidents and it's mere chance that he doesn't ask her to once more confirm that she's okay.

In the end, she's just grateful when the day comes to a close, when she feels that she can leave the Post Office and just then she remembers – Tom never came home, so he has the car and she had to take a cab and walk an extra mile to work. Her frustration is almost reaching a tipping point and she feels a headache coming on.

"Hey, Keen, you need a ride?"

Her partner just throws it out there like it's nothing, like he doesn't mind driving to her side of town, like he has nothing better to do.

She stares at Ressler for a moment, seemingly unable to answer and he gives her a small smile. "It's not that difficult of a question since you don't have your car."

"Isn't that a long way from where you live?"

He raises his eyebrow at her in question and she finds another excuse. "You don't know where I live."

"Tell me if this sounds familiar - your first day of work? When you got a personal escort with me, helicopters and all? It was quite flashy, you should remember."

His mouth quirks up and she stares at him incredulously. "Did you just... was that a _joke_?"

He shrugs his shoulders in response and the small smile doesn't disappear. "Let me take you home. It's better than walking a mile for a cab which probably doesn't want to drive to this part of the town."

Her heart flutters when he says  _home_  and yes, she knows that he meant  _her_  home and to distract herself from acknowledging just why him saying that word resonated within her, she acquiesces. Truth be told, of course she doesn't want to take a cab but she's also afraid of his questions – because she's pretty sure he isn't convinced she's fine – and she's so consumed in trying to appear as neutral as possible that she almost misses it when he drives past her street.

"You should've turned there."

"Nope."

"Where are we going?"

He gives her a weighted look. "Do you trust me?"

The words die in her throat because they both know the answer to that and she doesn't say anything else as he keeps driving for a couple more blocks through her neighborhood until he pulls over next to a park she's never visited.

"Come on, now."

He exits the car and she has no choice but to follow him into the park, questions burning her tongue. He heads straight for the swingset and plops down on one of the swings and the sight of him just sitting there is comical. He merely looks at her and she sits down on the other swing, still unsure what's going on.

"You're not okay."

He doesn't ask anymore, merely phrases it as a statement and it is absolutely unexpected, so she's startled into an honest answer. "I don't want to talk about it. Is that why we're here?"

He shakes his head and smiles wistfully, looking across the street from them and not at her. "No. Do you see that house over there?"

He indicates towards a fairly regular white house, nothing special about it and she nods, trying to figure out what exactly he's going to talk about.

"I grew up in that house."

Now she's really surprised; she was definitely not expecting that revelation. "You're from D.C.?" There's not much she knows about Ressler's past but she clearly remembers he was born in some small town.

"Not quite. I lived here for six years, until I was thirteen. Before that...I'm not really from anywhere. My father was in the military, so we traveled and moved a lot. But when my parents divorced, my mom and I moved here and stayed put."

"You know, I figured you as someone who has law enforcement background in your family."

"Why?"

She shrugs her shoulders, not quite sure how to explain that feeling. "Something about you."

He nods thoughtfully. "Well, not law enforcement but three generations of army men before me."

"But not you?"

"Yeah, I was a real disappointment." There is a slight tinge of bitterness in his voice, memories he hasn't quite shaken, emotions he hasn't quite dealt with but Liz knows better than to prod there.

"You said six years. Why did you move again?"

"My mom died, so I moved back in with my father and once more lived on army bases for the next five years."

"Oh." It's a revelation she wasn't expecting and she automatically reaches for a response. "I'm sorry."

Ressler nods but it's apparent he doesn't dwell on that part of his past. "Yeah. Anyway, this house was the first place I could really call home. It's not much, I know that but when I was a kid, it was the best thing. I finally belonged somewhere."

That's something Liz can understand; she knows that feeling of detachment, of not understanding why she wouldn't fit in, of always being on the outside. At least until she had Sam, until she had a father.

She looks at Ressler and tries to understand, tries to imagine him as a boy, living in that nondescript house, probably playing on that street, swinging where they're currently sitting. It's an odd idea but it fits and it's as if the puzzle pieces she wasn't looking answers for are suddenly coming together to form a picture of the man she's come to trust in such a short period of time.

"Where's your family now?" She distinctly remembers that no one came to see him while he was at the hospital, aside from her and Audrey; there were no cards, no care packages.

"I don't really have any. My father died during my first year at Quantico. Never quite forgave me for becoming a fed. I had no siblings, my grandparents are long dead."

She expected as much, given his disposition for being alone, for doing things on his own but the idea still makes her somewhat sad to realize just how alone he is, makes her want to make it better. "Family isn't only relatives."

"Yeah." He smiles but doesn't comment any more and they sit in silence.

"Why are we here, Ressler?" She almost can't believe she opens the floor for more questions and explanations but something about the night, about that park and the memories he's shared with her make her want to know.

He gives her a look she can't quite decipher, emotions changing rapidly on his face. "Sometimes it's nice to be heard, even when there's nothing to fix, if the other person couldn't possibly help you."

The words resonate heavily within her and she waits for his questions, waits for him to make her admit what's wrong but he doesn't say anything else, merely sways his swing a bit and keeps looking at the house. The silence is what finally makes her cave.

"Do you know we were going to adopt a baby?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, or even quite consider them, and she realizes she's actually been waiting to tell someone.

"It was in your file when you first came in."

"Well, we aren't anymore."

"Because of the job?"

And it would be the perfect opportunity to say  _Yes, because of my job, because of Red, and all the challenges it poses._  It would be simple but it would also be a lie and she really doesn't want to lie to him, even if she doesn't quite know how to explain it without delving into a long story about her past and her marriage.

"No, not that."

"Because of the Lassiters?"

And just like that, he undoes her with his answer. He probably read her during their visit to the Lassiters' house, saw her reaction, understood what it meant and she thinks she should be upset that she was so obvious but instead she feels relief, she feels comforted, she feels safe.

"Yes." Liz doesn't explain more, doesn't go into detail about how she saw herself and Tom in that moment, how she realized that something was broken, how she knew they couldn't have a baby just for the sake of having a baby.

But somehow, she knows that Ressler understands. And when she stands a moment later, he follows her instantaneously, not asking any further questions, simply getting into the car and driving to her house. She doesn't want to leave quite yet when she sees her door, sees that the light is on and knows that Tom is home; she just wants one more moment of acceptance, instead of the confrontation she's probably walking into.

"Thank you."

Ressler nods. "Sure. Like I said, sometimes you just need to be heard."

"No, not that. I mean, yes, that as well, but-" And this is the moment she'll remember, the moment she'll later know was of utmost importance, even if she doesn't quite know it yet. The moment she decides to cement their partnership because she simply has to say it. "I meant, thank you for  _Romeo_."

It's a complete change of subject and she can see the surprise on his face because they haven't spoken of it, merely moved on, adapted and altered their relationship accordingly. But something inside her loosens as she says it out loud, something feels right in a week full of wrongs when he smiles in answer and she remembers that soft smile for a long time to come.


End file.
